


L’aurore boréale

by trapdoorloversharp



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Angels, F/M, Fluff, Northern Lights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trapdoorloversharp/pseuds/trapdoorloversharp
Summary: Erik and Christine, now happily married, watch the Northern lights in Sweden.After their return to France, he locks himself in his room. What could Christine’s husband be up to?
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. "Heaven itself!"

The crisp air of the night was cold yet gentle, filling the world with the venerable beauty of winter. Snow, snow in abundance lay on the earth like a blanket a mother would swaddle her child with. Tucking its environment into bed, snow silenced every sound. The untouched surface of it seemed to be almost glowing, creating a mystical atmosphere. There was a strange calmness and tranquillity in the air as well as an unspoken promise that in time, nature would return to claim its place, announcing six months of light.

But now, now the darkness still held life beneath the snow hostage, an unforgiving reign over the lands.  
Appearances are often deceiving, however. Everything could change within a second. It did just then. There it was, a little sign of hope.

The sky was beginning to brighten up a bit, having been a completely black celestial dome just seconds before. Little freckles of light started to decorate it, stars being embroidered onto its dark canvas. It seemed as if it had received a gentle kiss on the head from its lover.

It was magical, and it had barely begun. 

* * *

Having decided to explore the North of Sweden after having travelled to Uppsala as well as Göteborg, they had ventured into more remote lands to see the Northern lights. When he finally caught a glimpse of seemingly supernatural light in the sky, Erik called out to Christine in front of him, her leading the way for once. She turned around, which proved to be not as easy as she thought due to the thick layer of snow covering them and their surroundings. Half-stuck in the snow in front of her, she almost lost her balance because of the large lantern in her hand. It made her look even more endearing.

  
When she finally managed to face him after way too much struggling with her dress, Christine was able to make out a smirk forming on his thin lips although they were well hidden behind an extra cosy scarf to protect his face from the cold. She herself had picked it out, not having forgotten her childhood memories of many a freezing night spent with her father in a barn or whatever they could find. His mesmerizing eyes exposed, she could read his amused expression perfectly well.  
  
“Apologies I can´t be as graceful as you, Monsieur touche-à-tout!” she taunted lovingly, receiving a mischievous glance from him.  


She was surprised to see him holding a very curious looking device of some sorts. A joyful laugh emerged from her lips. This man! How could he have hidden that from her, she had inspected their luggage so carefully before their departure! Still laughing, she inquired what that gadget was supposed to be. “Ever so curious, hm, my love?” he teased, amused by her enthusiasm.  
  
Erik was proud to present his latest invention to her, in his child-like excitement he explained to her how he got the idea to build a device that would produce a perfect copy of its environment, a so-called camera!  
After he had first found out about others trying to produce such a thing - decades ago, he wasn’t really interested in it since most had only used it to photograph people and it had taken quite a long time only to get a mediocre result.  
“But now, now I have someone I want to portray”, Erik said softly, at which his wife smiled, touched. Moving towards her, he exclaimed: “I have perfected this craft, Christine! It takes only seconds to produce a perfect replication of whatever there is in front of you! In colour! And not only that, it is not a mere copy, it is a work of art! You must believe me! No one else has ever come this far! I´m telling you, soon there will even be moving pictures, ma chérie!”.

Christine marvelled that someone could create such things. Moving pictures! That sounded ludicrous! Knowing her husband, however, he would make even the impossible happen if he wanted to.  
Erik was very pleased with himself to have impressed her so. Then he noticed the celestial glow above them. Gently pulling Christine closer, he whispered into her ear: “But enough of that, my dearest, look up!”

The Northern lights began gracing the sky, enchanting the two lovers beneath.

“Beautiful”, Christine breathed, . “You are beautiful” Erik whispered, admiring the wondrous shine that filled her soulful eyes. He earned an exquisite laugh from her. Oh, how he loved hearing her laugh! And how he loved her!

“Erik?” His name sounded divine on her lips and since they had arrived in his angel’s native country, she had begun to say it “the Swedish way”, as she had put it. It was adorable.  
After a moment probably too long not to reveal he was absolutely on cloud nine, he managed to react. “Yes, Christine?”

“Didn’t you want to take a picture of the sky with your … camera?” she asked, looking at him in a way that made his heart beat faster. “Uh, yes - my child,” he managed to get out. Usually so well-spoken, his composure and impeccable diction seemed to disappear when she was close. After he had backed up a couple of meters, however, he was able to think more clearly. Preparing his camera, Erik told Christine: “I´m going to capture heaven itself in one picture!” “I´m certain you´re going to take the most stunning photograph, _mon cœur_!” she replied, smiling encouragingly. Oh, what bliss it was to have her call him such sweet things!

She turned around to watch the polar lights, unaware of the smirk forming on his hidden lips.

It seemed as if the sky had picked out its most stunning gowns just for the two of them.

Glorious colours started to become more and more saturated, a cool green dominating the spectacle.

Never missing his cue, Erik called out to Christine again just as the Northern lights started to culminate in their mighty cadenza. His voice gently enfolded her in a magical embrace, asking her to turn around once again. Who would ever want to resist that sweet call?

Christine spun around. She couldn’t contain the excitement her heart felt and when she saw what he was doing, the young woman laughed in delight, filling the air with warmth. Erik held his camera in his hands (which were well protected in mittens), but instead of focussing on what was happening thousands of meters above them, he was photographing _her_!

His golden eyes shone brightly in the dark as he put away the device. She thought she could make out a grin under his scarf. What a cheeky husband she had! She loved him so much. Erik finally came to join her under the stars as she welcomed him with open arms. The lovers enchained to each other by fate watched the breath-taking aurora borealis entwined, him hugging her waist from behind. They remained in that position for quite some time after the final note of the celestial concert had faded away.

As Erik removed his scarf to kiss her blonde hair, an idea crept into Christine´s mind. Now it was her turn to smirk.

All of a sudden, she spun around and tackled her husband, causing them both to fall into the snow covering their surroundings. Erik was, for once, caught off-guard since he wasn´t used to getting randomly tackled by young Swedish sopranos. Still baffled, he noticed her amused expression. How pleased she was with herself! Utterly adorable.  
"My love, you must be careful with your poor old husband!”  
Her expression became worried immediately and she tried to get up. “Have I hurt you?”, she asked fearfully, her blue eyes tearing up. What a sweet child! He quickly stopped her from getting off of him by embracing her gently. He quite liked her being on top of him, actually.  
“I am only jesting, my dearest!”, he explained and before she could say another word, he had already claimed her soft lips. When they pulled away, both were breathing a little more heavily than before.  
“Do not frighten me so”, Christine scolded him. “I love you so much, I would never want to hurt you.”  
“Apologies”, Erik smiled. “You always touch Erik so gently, like he´s a fragile old man, but he - I quite enjoy this _juvenile_ enthusiasm as well.” There it was again, his smug look.

She pecked him on the cheek. “Are you cold?” Always so caring.  
“Not when you’re close.” Christine smiled, feeling kind of warm herself, which was quite absurd, given that they were in the North of Sweden in winter.

She rolled off of Erik and to his surprise, she did not get up, but lay next to him on the snow. Turning her head towards him, she took his hand and kissed it. “I think sometimes you forget how much I adore you.” Her blue eyes met his golden gaze. “All of this”, she gestured to the sky and snow, “is wonderful. This is the stuff of fairytales and myths. You know how much they mean to me. You have given me the magic back. You have given me everything. You’re the most loving, musical, intelligent, gifted human being I have ever seen. Every day I am grateful for you. I am so happy to be at your side and I can’t express how much I adore you. Every touch you grant me is holy. _You_ are holy to me.” She kissed his knuckles.

He swallowed audibly. “Christine” was everything he managed to get out. She understood.

She caressed his face and dried his tears with kisses. He calmed down after a while. Still lying there, he contemplated the possibility that all of this was a just dream. Just a cruel trick to make him believe he had a loving wife, just to make him miserable again after waking up – but no, this was real. Her kisses, her love, her devotion… she was alive, and she was his.  
The most radiant angel on Earth was his! And she was alive! After having regained his composure enough not to immediately sob at the sight of his wife, he looked at her with a curious expression.

Christine started to move her arms and legs like a jumping-jack, shovelling a generous amount of snow to her sides. He tilted his head. “My dearest, whatever are you doing?”

She was quite shocked. “You’ve never heard of a snow angel?” He shook his head. Magician, Opera Ghost, Angel of Music, sure, but a snow angel? That hadn’t been his occupation before.

Could it be another creature from a Scandinavian story? He tried to remember the ones she had told him when they had been in Uppsala, but everything he could see was Christine. There she lay, long blonde hair with a hint of a golden shine framing her pretty face, heavenly blue eyes like a reminder of the sky on a sunny day – quite literally an angel amidst heaps of sparkling ice crystals.

“ _You’re_ my snow angel.” he said. “You flatter me.” she replied, blushing. The young woman jumped up to see her result. “Look!” she pointed at the shape she had created in the snow, “ _That_ is a snow angel!” Encouraging him to try and make a snow angel himself, she threw herself in the snow again. “Come on, it´s fun!” she assured him. Slowly, he began to move his significantly longer limbs in a similar manner to what he had observed Christine doing. He must look ridiculous! But in the middle of nowhere, there was nobody who could have cared what he looked like. And making a snow angel was actually quite fun. Especially with the love of his life.  
  


Above, the night had begun to become darker again, allowing the stars to sparkle even brighter than before. Little dots of light in a seemingly never ending abyss.

The two adventurers underneath the sky had gotten up.

“See? It’s really easy! And how magnificent your angel looks!” Christine chattered enthusiastically. One was very tall and thin, the other smaller and curvier.

Indeed, his angel was a vision, Erik mused. And he was not referring to the shape in the snow.

Brushing his fingers against her cheek, he declared: “My love, I believe it is time to leave. Erik does not want his Christine to get sick. Not good for the voice.”  
His commanding tone allowed no objection, and while Christine had enjoyed their time outside in the cold, she agreed it would do no good having him or her get sick.  
“You´re right. I don´t want you to be ill either.”

The sky watched over them as they made their way back, which was much easier because they didn’t have to make a path through the snow again. The stars and the lantern one of the figures beneath was holding guided them to their small cottage. As the lovers took a hot bath and quickly fell asleep in each other’s arms after having watched a little more of a long winter’s night, nature decided to cover the earth with a new layer of snow.

White snow, covering two snow angels and a trail to a little house, keeping the celestial show and its two only spectators secret forever.


	2. L’aurore boréale

One month later, they were back to their domestic bliss in France.  
A week passed and Christine thought that Erik had been composing a lot recently, not even letting her into his room and only ever coming out to kiss her goodnight.  
She hoped he wasn’t in one of his “phases”.  
  


One evening, just when she had decided to personally drag him from the organ if she had to, he appeared right next to her, completely out of the blue.  
  
Albeit not knowing if he would show up for more than a second, she had styled her hair. She had put on an off-the-shoulder gown with beautiful ruffles, adorned with roses made of the finest silk. Truly luxurious and something she would only wear on special occasions.  
It was one of his favourites, probably because its neckline made it _way_ too scandalous to be worn outside, so Christine would wear it for him alone to see.  
  
A little bit sulky about her husband’s absence, the young opera singer tried to smooth out the silk which wasn´t wrinkly to begin with. Sighing, she took her head in her hands. She missed singing with him. She missed _being_ with him. She missed _him_. Terribly.

“Whatever could Erik´s Christine be sighing about?”

An unmistakable, incredible voice wrapped itself around her. She jumped, startled. It was him! “Erik!”  
She practically threw her arms around his neck, earning a glorious chuckle.  
“Did Christine miss her husband?” he purred into her left ear.

Nestled again his chest, she nodded.

“She must really love him, then. Oh, and how pretty she is! She is truly worthy of her gift.” Erik was in one of his moods.

“Do you like it?” she dared to ask as he brushed a strand of hair out of her face.  
The depth of her blue eyes seemed to bring him back to earth. “Very much. You are so beautiful.” he stated matter-of-factly.

It was then that he realised he wasn’t quite as smartened up as his wife – and that he had not bathed for days. “Excuse me, dearest” he seemed embarrassed “I- I´ll be back shortly.”  
He left the room.

Christine sat down again, completing the picture of a queen in her gown, sitting amidst roses - still alive despite their age. She did have a green thumb when it came to flowers.  
After a good hour or so, Erik entered their living room, impeccably dressed as per usual.

She smiled at him, something that still confused him greatly sometimes – only she could do that to him. A smile played upon his lips as well. “My Swedish princess” he purled fondly.

Only when he came closer could Christine see a folder in his hands. She was sure that her curiosity must have shown since he chuckled at her excited expression.

“I have something for you, my dearest.” he said in the most adoring manner one can imagine.

“I have been working on it for the past week or so. It is entirely yours and a gift from your Erik who is overwhelmed with joy that he is married to you.”

“Oh, Erik!” Christine exclaimed, extremely touched. He handed her the folder. The young woman opened it carefully and to her absolute astonishment it was her own face looking back at her.

It was the photograph Erik had taken at the end of their travels through Sweden! 

Amazement spread across her features, causing her husband to look like the cat that got the cream.  
  
The young woman stared at the picture in awe. She had never seen such a portrait!

Christine smiled widely in the photograph, long locks of blonde hair flying in the air from turning to face the camera, eyes shining even more brightly than the Northern lights above her.

The contrast between the snow and the night sky made the other colours appear more vibrant, bringing the whole scene to life.  
The photograph was not a simple replica of reality, but art. It had immense spirit.  
  


“Erik has made himself a copy or two” her husband mentioned quietly.  
“There´s more.” The former Opera Ghost almost sounded scared.

Christine turned the page and what she found brought her to tears.

In the handwriting she had started to love so much there was written a dedication:

“ pour ma femme adorée.

Jag älskar dig över allt. ”

And above that, the title of his latest composition in capital golden letters:

“L’AURORE BORÉALE”  
  


* * *

  
“It is a symphonic poem.“ Erik explained.

“Some years ago, about three months after the Opéra was inaugurated, I attended the première of “Vltava” by Smetana. Not bad for a deaf man, though probably not worth the trip, travelling is not so pleasant for your husband, you see – I was in the area anyway, so it was a slight detour…

Well, such pieces of music are very popular, for example the “Danse Macabre” we had _the_ _pleasure_ to hear on the day Debienne and Poligny _abdicated_. A rather rude way to ask the Opera Ghost to dance, don’t you think? I believe Saint-Saëns did not forgive him for the remark that it is no wonder his works are not successful!

Both just attempts to emulate Liszt, I´m afraid…  
Anyways, Erik - _I_ thought a symphonic poem would remind Christine of the Northern lights and of their - _our_ lovely time together-” he started babbling.  
“Quite obviously Erik is no orchestra – not in the traditional sense at least, but he can imitate it very well – do you want to hear it? There, the strings, the woodwinds, the wind instruments – and there, the percussion – one day this technique will be popular, Erik knows it, Christine, oh, yes – why are you crying?” He stopped his demonstration abruptly.

Tears poured down her rosy cheeks. What had he done to upset her so? Did she not like his work? He had put every thought in the world into her gift!  
“Oh, Erik has displeased his Christine! Forgive him, he only wanted your happiness!” he sobbed.  
“Erik” he heard her voice wavering with intense emotion. “This… is the most beautiful present anyone has ever received and I can´t express how much I love it. I am so, so happy.”  
Tears of joy! He had forgotten those existed. He had made her happy! He just had read her reaction wrong – oh what blissful warmth overcame him at the thought of being the source of _Christine’s_ _delight_!  
He felt two arms go around his waist, hugging his thin frame. He placed a kiss on top of his wife’s head, caressing her hair which cascaded down her back. He could stay in their embrace forever. When they pulled away, her eyes were still a little red.

“May I take a closer look? I couldn´t see much, I was so touched.” she asked.

“It is all yours. As I am.” Erik smiled.

He had smiled so much in these last months! And it felt so good!

As she began to examine the sheet music, he started to sing.  
  


It was a wondrous melody that introduced the whole piece; she felt like she was transported back to that exact spot where the two of them had witnessed the aurora borealis. The night was still pitch black and had just started preparing the canvas for a heavenly masterpiece.  
  
Strangely, it reminded her of how they had met. The music sounded unsure, dark and afraid.

Another melody – the stars. The notes were like little drops of rain, very ornately placed and caressing her skin. One melody dominating the other. A solo for violin, almost mourning.  
The two melodies were merged, in one combined. It seemed like destiny that they had found each other. A wave of emotion hit her when the colours of the aurora borealis were introduced by the harp. It grew more intense as the piece progressed. She felt turmoil.  


Was there a chance that the colours could not unfold their true colours? Her heart beat faster. A distraction? It was like the two parties were fighting and Christine was in the middle.

Utter upheaval almost made her heart jump out of her chest! Who was this strange intruder?  
The intensity of the music was too much for her. She collapsed into an armchair.

The complex percussion part announced the victory of the colours. And there they came: The hint of green grew to be the dominating colour and there! – Christine reached out with her arms! – an ice blue and a little bit of purple. How beautiful they were!  
  
They became clearer as the crescendo made her feel as if she witnessed the most incredible performance the Northern sky had to offer. So many colours! She saw stars from the intensity of the music as the piece culminated in a passionate finale that left her breathless.  
  
Followed by eternal bliss as the colours absconded slowly.   
Peace. Placidity. Music filled her from within and encompassed her fully.

Soon, the last notes rang out, leaving her exhausted. How did all that come from Erik´s throat? She felt dizzy.  
  


“Are you well?” she heard a concerned Erik ask. “I-I’m alright” she managed to say. He was definitely not convinced.

“Erik is afraid he got too carried away” he told her as he gave her a glass of water, making sure she wasn’t falling off the chair. “Maybe he should not have –”

“That was the loveliest gift ever given to me.” She did not miss the flash of pride on his face.

After having recovered, Christine declared:

“I am certain no empress ever received so fair a gift.”

* * *

Kneeling down next to her, Erik took the folder from Christine’s lap.

He took the portrait of his wife out of it and began to sing once more:

“Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön

wie noch kein Auge je geseh’n.”

_This portrait is enchantingly beautiful,_

_as no eye has ever seen before !_

Christine smiled. Tamino’s Portrait Aria from The Magic Flute. One of her favourites.

Erik pointed at her portrait and continued, taking her hand in his:

“Ich fühl’ es, wie dies Götterbild

Mein Herz mit neuer Regung füllt.

Dies Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen,

doch fühl’ ich’s hier wie Feuer brennen;”

_I feel this heavenly picture_

_fill my heart with new emotion._

_This something I cannot name,_

_yet I feel it here like fire burning._

– he moved in front of her after having put the photograph together with the folder on a nearby table and pressed her little hand to his heart, pretending to ask himself:

“soll die Empfindung Liebe sein?”.

_Can the feeling be love?_

Swiftly, he got up, releasing her hand.

A powerful

“Ja, ja!“

_Yes, yes!_

resonated within their whole home.

“Die Liebe ist’s allein.”

 _It is love alone._ _  
  
_

Erik looked deeply into her eyes. Christine almost swooned.

All of a sudden, he backed up a bit a little, pretending he was searching for someone.

“O, wenn ich sie nur finden könnte!

O, wenn sie doch schon vor mir stünde!“

_O, if only I could find her!_

_O, if only she stood before me already!_

Coming closer to her again, he sang:

“Ich würde – würde – warm und rein –

was würde ich?“

_I would, would, warmly and chastely,_

_What would I do?_

He paused. And unexpectedly, he carefully, but quickly grabbed her to pull her up so that they both stood on their feet.

Caressing her bare shoulders, he told her:

“Ich würde sie voll Entzücken“

_I would press her full of rapture_

He courageously embosomed her –

“an diesen heißen Busen drücken!“

_against this glowing bosom!_

Framing her face with his hands, he softly sang to her:

“Und ewig wäre sie dann mein!“

_And then she would be mine forever!_

Erik repeated the last part four times, his voice growing more prodigious each time and he finished with unparalleled virtuosity and passion. He was rewarded with the most loving gaze and smile.  
  
“I already _am_ yours forever.”   
  


She kissed him on the lips. Erik sighed contently and rested his head on top of hers, playing with the long blonde locks flowing down her back.

“I love you, my little angel. I love you so much.”  
“I adore you. You are my angel and my salvation and I cannot kiss you enough.”

She nestled into his chest again, feeling warm and secure.  
  


For a while, they just stood there, entwined, both slowly dozing off because of the events of the evening. She couldn’t be bothered to go sleep in their bed. Wasn’t there a blanket on the couch? 

After a few minutes, Christine giggled. Her husband reluctantly removed his arms from around her body to cock his head, inquiring what was so amusing.

“You know, your Mozart certainly did not make me weep. It has made me rather euphoric!”  
Her broad grin betrayed her intentions, but Erik did not have any time to act.

Without a warning, she jumped into his arms again, the sudden movement causing the two of them to tumble quite clumsily onto the sofa.  
“My love,” he began to speak “I believe you have to warn me before you do that again.”  
“But then it wouldn’t be fun anymore!” she teased.  
“Ah, yes, I remember, juvenile enthusiasm.”

His intonation bespoke his plans.

Even faster than Christine just moments before, he had rolled them over so he was on top of her.

And he began to tickle her. She burst into joyful laughter until she could barely catch her breath. Only then did he stop, having wrinkled her dress completely.  
  
“Come here,” she said, inviting him to embrace her. Of course he accepted.  
Since they were already entangled, they decided to continue cuddling there.

“Now, now,” she pretended to scold him “my dress is so wrinkly. What am I supposed to do with it?”  
“Take it off” he proposed with a drowsy smile. She chuckled. That was unthinkable. Or was it? The dress being all crinkly would do no good and only by being together they had already defied the social norms, hadn’t they? Christine shrugged.  
Getting out of the gown, she shook her now loose hair and caught her husband’s disbelieving yet overjoyed gaze on her form. He held out his hands to help her crawl back under the covers.

After she had lovingly kissed his neck; assuring herself his clothes were comfortable enough to sleep in, he made himself comfortable on her soft breasts.

Christine gently sang Erik to sleep, ever so often lazily caressing his head, reminiscing in the wonderful memory of them together in the snow,

lost in vivid dreams of the Northern lights filled with his – _their_ heavenly, heavenly music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dedication of L’AURORE BORÉALE literally means "for my adored wife. I love you above everything." which would probably be translated into English as "I love you to death" but, you know, THAT didn’t sound as inviting. :D
> 
> "Vltava", also known as "The Moldau", premiered on the 4th of April in 1875 (I think Smetana was completely deaf by then). It is the second symphonic poem of six in his cycle "Má vlast". 
> 
> "Danse Macabre" by Saint-Saëns was reworked into a tone poem in 1874. He is also mentioned conducting it in "Le Fantôme de l’Opéra" on the day of the gala! 
> 
> Both modelled their musical pieces on Liszt’ work.
> 
> "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön" is an aria from "Die Zauberflöte" (libretto: Emanuel Schikaneder, music: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart). I used various translations online.
> 
> Here, have a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6-5H4i-NUQ
> 
> If you’re wondering what Erik was doing in Prague in 1875, ...me too. :D
> 
> ♥ Thank you for reading! ♥  
> ~trapdoorloversharp

**Author's Note:**

> "Monsieur touche-à-tout" means "Mister jack of all trades".
> 
> “The very first Northern Lights photograph was allegedly taken by the Danish photographer Sophus Tromholt in 1885 near Nowadays Oslo. In order to achieve this feat, he exposed the photo for as long as 8 minutes!”  
> (https://www.bivrost.com/visions-of-the-northern-lights-pt-2-the-rise-of-the-darkroom/)
> 
> ♥ Thank you for reading! ♥  
> ~trapdoorloversharp


End file.
